


where the sun kissed your face (my lips will follow)

by Macremae



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Fluff, Gardening, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:12:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: Rudyard has a green thumb.





	where the sun kissed your face (my lips will follow)

Something strange was afoot on the face of Rudyard Funn.

Well, that wasn't exactly fair. There were a lot of things afoot in that general area, like frowning, and yelling, and general expressions of distaste concerning the universe and it's inhabitants. There tended to be quite a lot of those.

Of course, that wasn't to say nothing good occurred there either. Not that Chapman took any particular notice of those things. He was completely immune to Rudyard's huge grey eyes, and scrunchy nose, and freckles-

Wait a minute.

Rudyard Funn did not have freckles. 

Or at least, he didn't. Because during their twenty-seventh consecutive fight that week, while in rather close proximity to each other, Chapman had noticed something. There, sprinkled across the bridge of his nose, faint but there, were freckles.

How the universal fuck.

It shouldn't have been possible. It literally, shouldn't have been possible, because the acquiring of freckles required the acquiring of UV radiation, which could only be absorbed through direct exposure to the sun, and sunlight plus Rudyard Funn, while not an equation Chapman had ever seen before, could not end in anything other than a very unattractive sunburn, and Chapman didn't exactly know why he was so invested in this honestly mundane happening, but he was going to get to the bottom of it, because Rudyard Funn plus freckles should not look that cute.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? 

It was cute. It was very cute. Unfairly, in a way, because freckles were kind of a Thing for Chapman. You know a Thing. Everybody has one. Some people are very attracted to people with glasses, some like red hair, and Eric Chapman happened to be very enamored with the concept of freckles. So, one could see how this would be a problem. 

Water is wet. The sky is blue. Eric Chapman is sempiternally hated by Rudyard Funn. These are the laws of the universe, and this freckles debacle threatened to bring it all crumbling down. Thus, it was imperative that the reason for it be discovered as soon as possible.

This turned out to be about twenty minutes after Chapman finished having his little gay crisis, and told himself to kindly man the fuck up.

He was greeted at the door of Funn Funerals by Georgie, who gave him a long, seemingly judgemental look (??) and said bluntly, “Rudyard’s in the back.”

Chapman frowned. “How did you know I was here for him?”

Stepping back to let him through, she replied, “Your ears are pink, which means you’re nervous. When you come to see me, you try to look confident and suave and all that. Same goes for Antigone, but a lot less so, ‘cause you don’t have to try as hard with her. But whenever you try and talk to Rudyard, you get nervous, ‘cause there isn’t any sort of trick you can use to make him like you, and you also know you’re probably gonna get yelled at, and have to pretend you don’t think it’s cute. So: pink ears.”

It took Chapman a few seconds to process that, and after he allowed himself to feel rightfully miffed at the psychoanalyzation, his brain caught up to the last few sentences.

Then, he really did feel his ears go pink.

“Excuse me?” he said in a voice a few octaves higher than usual, and rapidly tried to think of an explanation for it. Georgie shrugged. 

“Could be wrong, I guess. Never happened before though. I wonder what it’d feel like?”

Chapman made a face that conveyed a lot of different emotions at once. Georgie took pity on him.

“Like I said, he’s in the garden out back.”

At this news, Chapman’s mortification quickly turned to curiosity. “Garden?” he said. Georgie nodded. 

“Yeah. Weird, right? He spends, like, ninety-nine percent of his day around dead people, then turns out he’s got a green thumb. It’s food though, so no one’s really complaining.”

It was beginning to dawn on Chapman where the freckles might have come from. However, as he made his way to the back door, the situation still perplexed him. Rudyard? And gardening? _And living things?_ It made absolutely no sense.

 _That_ was the thing that spurred him onward to the garden. Curiosity. Nothing more.

The door opened out into the small lot behind Funn Funerals. The last time Chapman had seen it when he had first arrived, it had been rather desolate looking. The ground had been made of dry, packed dirt and patches of scrub, and a thick blanket of nasty looking vines had snaked it’s way up the back fence. To be fair, no one expected the yard of a funeral home to be much else, but it had still been a rather depressing sight.

Chapman barely recognized it now. 

There were still patches of bare ground, but a majority of the area was covered in neat, green grass. The tall, formerly sickly looking tree that had once loomed over the yard, was now recognizable as a dogwood flush with white flowers and leaves. More buds covered the pruned vines on the fence, and a few looked ready to bloom. Not a trace of scrub was left either, and a little line of stones separated the most notable section from the rest.

It was a garden; lush and bright with flora. Everything was sectioned off into their various species, including a little vegetable patch with tomatoes almost falling off the vine. Next to it, tall sunflowers shook gently in the breeze, a few seeds falling onto the gardenias below. There were patches of lavender, violets, and carnations, a few peonies, and even a small rose garden. It was charming, to be sure, but more importantly, it was stubbornly and unquestionably _alive_.

At the sound of footsteps, Rudyard, who had been kneeling next to the peonies, turned to see who it was. When he saw Chapman, his eyes widened. So did the other man’s but it was more due to the fact that Rudyard was wearing a t-shirt, so apparently the world had stopped turning at some point.

Also, that sunhat was unfairly cute.

Rudyard’s cheeks turned the color of the peonies, and he dropped his trowel in surprise. “I- what are _you_ doing here?” he sputtered. Chapman temporarily ignored him, still looking around in awe. 

Rudyard huffed and got to his feet, brushing dirt off of his knees. He marched up to Chapman and crossed his arms firmly, although the intimidating effect was rather lost due to the fact Chapman had several inches on him, and was currently more delighted and amused than cowed. 

He cleared his throat peevishly. “Hello? Chapman? Have you suddenly gone deaf? Because as delightful as I’d find that-”

“Did you do all this?”

Rudyard made a face at being interrupted, and was about to continue when he realized Chapman was being sincere. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he glanced around. “The… garden?”

“Yes,” Chapman said, walking over to the cluster of flowers, “it’s amazing. The last time I saw this place it looked… well, no offense, but it looked a bit pathetic. But now…” He turned back to Rudyard, looking genuinely impressed. “You really did all this?”

Now Rudyard was blushing for an entirely different reason. “Er- yes. I mean, Georgie helped a bit of course with the fence and such- not much different from a coffin if you think about it, but. Um. Yes. The plants were me.”

“I didn’t know you had a green thumb, Rudyard.”

“A what?”

Chapman blinked. “It means you’re good with growing things Which, I mean, you obviously are.”

Rudyard shook his head. “That makes absolutely no sense. What would my thumb being a certain color have to do with gardening?”

A fond smile crept its way onto Chapman’s face, and Rudyard frowned at it. “What?”

His ears felt warm again, and Chapman quickly remarked, “Nothing. So is this where you’ve been getting all your flowers now?”

Realizing that Chapman didn’t appear to be threat at the moment, Rudyard gave a cautious nod and returned to kneeling by the flowers. “It’s certainly much more cost-effective than buying them at the market. Or at least, it would be if there were any left.” He shot a raised eyebrow at Chapman in a rather uncharacteristic display of subtlety. “And Madeline likes the tomatoes.”

Chapman nodded and added, “They’re pretty, too. I’m honestly surprised; you never really seemed like the gardening type.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Chapman?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “it does involve a lot of sunlight. And fresh air. And the outdoors in general. Not really your thing, I’ve heard.”

Rudyard huffed and stuck his trowel in the soil with a vengeance. “There is quite a bit you don’t know about me.”

To that, Chapman made his way over to Rudyard and knelt down next to him. Rudyard made a face that managed to be both confused and nonplussed at the same time, and shifted the trowel to dig out a particularly stubborn weed. Sunlight filtered through the holes in the patchwork hat, playing across the sharp planes of his face.

Which reminded Chapman of a clever segway into what he’d come there for. 

“You’re right,” he said nonchalantly. “For example, I didn’t know you had freckles.”

Rudyard’s head popped up quizzically. “I have what?”

“Freckles,” Chapman explained, gesturing towards his face. “I saw them earlier today when you, pardon the honesty, got up in my face during our argument.”

Rudyard snorted in disbelief. “Firstly,” he said, turning back to the soil, “I believe it was you who “got up in _my_ face. And secondly, I do not have freckles. I pride myself on being decidedly not Irish, thank you very much. No offense to Georgie.”

“No, you do,” Chapman insisted, and Rudyard turned to look at him again. “On your nose, there- oh!”

Rudyard’s hand flew to his nose. “What, what is it?”

“No, you’ve just- there’s some dirt on your cheek, right there.”

Rudyard rubbed at the wrong cheek and frowned. “I don’t feel anything.”

“It’s on the other one, here.”

Without thinking, Chapman took his hand and placed it on the correct spot. His thumb brushed the sharp bone, and both men’s eyes suddenly went very, very wide.

Neither quite knew what to do, and they stayed frozen like that for what felt like hours, but really must have been a few seconds. Rudyard sucked in a short, tiny breath. Chapman forgot to breathe entirely.

Then, as suddenly as the moment had come on, Chapman pulled his hand away quickly and held it close to his side, his face burning. Rudyard ducked his head and rubbed at the spot embarrassment leaving color in it’s place. Abruptly standing up, Chapman cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well. Er. You, uh, probably have quite a bit of work to do, so. I should be going.”

Rudyard nodded quickly and suddenly became very interested in his trowel. Chapman cringed inwardly and hurried inside, willing his face to cool down and slamming the back door behind him.

Letting out a deep breath, he sagged against it and buried his face in his hands. “Shit.”

Georgie, who Chapman now realized had been watching from inside the whole time, hummed in agreement. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“Your boss is going to kill me one day, and he doesn't even know it,” he said miserably. Georgie rolled her eyes. 

“Oh believe me,” she said under her breath, “he has no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell about dead people boys with me at stormybisexual on tumblr


End file.
